If a cow ever got the chance...

Today, I remembered that I like my job. The morning did not start out that way, as my department is scheduled to be honored with a visit from the Overlord, and I was forced to find appropriate attire at six a.m.

I should explain The Company's hierarchy. I report to the Sub-Boss, who reports to the Big Boss. These two are both women, and they actually work in this office so I see them every day. The Company's policies of imperialism and expansionism lead it to constantly extend its grasp, which is why it acquired our tiny publishing firm a couple years ago (both the Sub- and Big Bosses already worked there). The acquisition led to major personnel changes, although oddly, none in my immediate department. The Big Boss was given a new "next-level manager," however: The Overlord. He works in one of the other corporate offices, far far away, so he shows up here about twice a year.

(Of course, The Overlord himself is a puppet of shadowy forces greater than all of us: The Gods. It is rumored that there are hierarchies and chains of command even within the ranks of The Gods, but when I contemplate their exalted status I become dizzy and cannot continue to think about it. The Gods were only seen here once, on the day The Company acquired us, when one of them delivered a motivational speech whose key phrase was--I'm not kidding--"Two plus two equals five". He meant to say that our firm's merger with The Company would yield a new, better company whose sum would be greater than its parts. However, what he said was "Here's something for you to think about: Two plus two equals five.")

Anyway, in honor of The Overlord's visit, the Big Boss requested that we not wear jeans today. This created some problems for me, since I have exactly two pairs of non-denim pants. One has a broken zipper and I have misplaced the other pair. It has absolutely vanished sometime between the Wisconsin trip and now. Since I loathe shopping, my standard corporate wardrobe consists basically of three alternating pairs of jeans, a sweater I stole from C while he was asleep one morning, a burgundy velour shirt I bought in the men's department of Urban Outfitters in 1994, a nondescript yellow shirt I found in my mom's closet last year, and a ratty black cardigan under which various short-sleeved stretchy tops from high school can be worn. They no longer fit, but you can only see a tiny piece of them when the cardigan is buttoned, so it's OK. My dad actually bought me a nice blue button-down shirt for Christmas, but since I am too lazy to iron it, I have yet to wear it. Yes, I'm a fucking slob.

So this morning as I was trying to find a safety pin to hold together the fly of the broken-zippered nondenim pants, I was of course cursing The Overlord and the Big Boss and muttering darkly to myself. But then I realized I have it pretty easy, unlike some of us. There IS a dress code in effect at The Company, and it mandates, among other things, no jeans, no shorts, no skorts (not that I want to wear them), no capri pants (likewise), no "torn or worn" clothing, no "form-fitting" clothing; no carpenter pants or overalls, NO WORKBOOTS, no open-toed dress shoes or sandals, and no shirts with "inappropriate" messages or graphics. This is strictly enforced in The Company's other offices. However, the Big Boss specifically stated that she would not enforce it here (although she did say no Spandex, and that she didn't want to see anyone's navel). As long as we dress up one day a year for The Overlord, our clothing the rest of the time is up to us.

I am forever grateful to her, although this blazer is chafing my neck.

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